We are spun out forever

We are spun out forever from “now”,
Home is a skeleton.
A landscape gleaming wildly;
Saturated by spring
But the colours are draining into the years,
Life unravelling
From cardboard boxes and baskets.

I could almost eat it,
The petrified pale sheets,
Perfectly aligned.
Ticking clocks pilfer silences;
Subtlety overwhelming,
Slicing the sagging stillness.

It’s in us always.
History: pounding through consciousness,
Dragging reality away with it.
All I see is the room.
Floorboards and desks perpendicular
Spineless soldiers,
Ordered;
They became us packing boxes in unison.

My fingers feel the rusty dent in my pen
Where my nails chaffed blue paint
To dispose of the hours.

The reek of school diners marries
The stench of freshly cut grass;
Blood in my tracks as I walk.
“I did what I had to and I did it well”.

Love is crackles and hisses
Across oceans and time zones,
Moments swallowed by distances and memories
Spun round an internal realm of forever.
Nobody is allowed to go outside.
Tossed and scattered in a sandstorm of what was,
Dizzily delirious
Drowned.
An infinite blue of hope and fear.
Sentiments filling exhausted lungs
Leaving thoughts void.

There is no now.